Chapter 25
The downpour had turned into a drizzle; the dashes of water on George’s sitting room window making his view down to the street below appear blurred. Still, he found the nagging cold of England, the eternal rain and greyness, a keen reminder of the sultry blue skies he had inadvertently left behind in Malaya. And that morning was no better. Ridiculously, he had hoped for a sunny day, for open windows, a soft breeze. Rubbing at the glass, he wiped away the condensation and peered down at the tops of umbrellas. But Emma’s umbrella would be a bright colour; the sombre black not for her. Pressing his nose to the window, he searched out the face of a woman stepping down from a cab further up the road. He could just make out the sound of the engine turning over as she leant through th
